


Clean Start

by esteefee



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 07:57:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1932999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/esteefee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For squidgie's prompt: <i>Team, The day Ronon decides to cut off his dreads is almost ceremonial and involves his closest friends.</i></p><p>Daniel Jackson comes to Atlantis and does his usual something amazing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clean Start

**Author's Note:**

  * For [squidgie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidgie/gifts).



> Beta by the excellent Mischief.

Daniel Jackson came to Atlantis for a quick visit, accidentally re-Ascended and, in a fit of do-gooding that John could really appreciate, transported every single Wraith in the galaxy, kit-and-caboodle, into an alternate, unoccupied universe.

One without any human life whatsoever.

"It's up to them, you see, whether they wish to adapt to their new situation or not," Jackson said, after getting forcibly kicked planetside again for interfering. "They certainly have the means."

McKay was, for once, completely speechless. 

Ronon wasn't. He roared something incomprehensible in Satedan and swooped over to hoist Jackson into a bone-crushing hug. Jackson's eyes bugged out and then he just went with it, despite being dressed only in a colorful Athosian blanket.

It was a good moment. John was, for the first time since coming to Pegasus, free from the dark ticker running in his mind that was counting off all the lives being lost every minute since he killed that damned Keeper.

Teyla was crying. She looked beautiful crying, a wide smile on her face.

"So, what do we do now?" John asked.

"I'm cutting my hair," Ronon announced.

Everyone kind of blinked at that, even Woolsey. 

Ronon nodded. "The military made me grow it as a loyalty thing. I'm out of the military now." And he grinned, so wide his dimples creased his cheeks, and pulled a knife out of nowhere as if he were going to do it right there on the Gate room floor.

"Hey! Not here," John said. "C'mon. Let's do this right. We need a party. Mr. Woolsey?"

"Yes. Yes! Of course, of course."

So, they threw a party.

Everyone on Atlantis was invited, and all the Athosians, and Atlantis' closest trading partners. John kept up minimum patrols but rotated them enough so everyone got to stay, at least for a little while.

He drank booze at a slow enough pace that he could enjoy himself and still keep an eye on the proceedings. 

Jackson was feted as a king, an emperor—at some point so many gifts were stacked at the floor around his feet he couldn't even move, and people just started bringing him food and drink and had to adore him from afar. 

"Come, John," Teyla said, tugging at John's sleeve. "It is time." 

His team gathered at another table, where Ronon was sitting with an array of cutting tools—knives and scissors big and small—with a big mirror that Rodney wedged in front of him.

Ronon handed John a small knife. "You're my commanding officer. You start."

John's heart sank a little. He hadn't really realized—because of course, Ronon was done. The Wraith were gone, and now Ronon could move on with his life. But John would sure as hell miss him. 

"Yeah, okay." John took a breath. "I'm hereby discharging you from service, Ronon Dex," he said and took ahold of one of Ronon's dreads, a medium-sized one, threaded heavily with a bright piece of twine, and sliced it off neatly close to Ronon's scalp.

"Good?" John asked, handing it to him with the knife, hilt first.

Ronon smiled up at him, eyes bright. "'S been an honor."

"Same here." 

Ronon offered the knife to Teyla, who took it with a smile of her own.

"Thank you for fighting beside me," she said, and cut off a lock from next to his brow, then bent and pressed her forehead to his. "You have a warrior's spirit, and a scholar's heart, Ronon Dex."

When Ronon smiled this time, a tear leaked from his eye, and John ducked his head. Oh, man. Would Ronon leave Atlantis now to go to school somewhere? He'd been awed silly by the ruins of the great library they'd found on M6S-795.

"Me, now," Rodney said, shoving forward next to John and taking Teyla's knife. "Ronon...Dex. You've saved my life too many times for me to regret you being impressed into service, but far be it from me to encourage any man to waste his mind in the military when he obviously could be using it for the betterment of knowledge. So, um, congratulations? And thank you." Rodney took his time, cutting a very precise lock near the top of Ronon's scalp, a really fat one that he then offered to Ronon, who pushed it back at him.

"You keep it, McKay. You've earned it," he said gruffly, and in the mirror, Rodney's face showed pleased surprise.

Ronon took a deep breath. "Now the rest," he said. "This'll take a while. You guys don't have to stick around."

But they did, of course. And, yeah, it took a while. A long while. They passed the time telling stories about Ronon's hair, about the time he got it caked in that sulfuric mud on P1C-784 and ended up smelling like rotten eggs for a week, and when the little girl on Mealos insisted on braiding his dreads together with bright pink ribbons dyed from beet things, and Ronon ended up looking like an Easter float. 

Ronon refused their tentative offers to help with the cutting except when it came to the back of his head, and then he turned to John for some reason. John took the scissors and pulled up a chair, leaning in close. Ronon's hair smelled good, a little like cocoa butter, a little musky like Ronon, and John felt his chest tighten right up thinking about how much he'd miss that smell, miss _Ronon_ so goddamned much, and John had never had a chance, he'd wanted to—but that wasn't regs, not even close.

And now Ronon was going away.

John got lost in the tangle of light brown on darker brown, the springy, soft texture beneath his fingertips—the divide between where the dreads ended and Ronon's newer growth began.

Before he knew it, he was done with the last snip, and the uneven, rounded landscape of Ronon's skull was revealed. John brushed his hand over it, dusting off loose hair, and saw Ronon shiver before he handed back a shaver.

"Coleman loaned me this," he said, his voice rough.

John held back a laugh, pretty sure it would come out wrong. But it was such a twist—shaving Ronon's head as he was leaving the military instead of when he was hitting boot camp. John remembered how much he'd hated his first brush cut as a green nugget.

He took the shaver and adjusted the height, then used it to trim the uneven bits, smoothing out Ronon's skull into a curly crew cut—and of course Ronon's head was as perfect as the rest of him, no bumps or points to mess it up.

John finished and then stepped back to catch Ronon's eyes in the mirror. "You're all done," he said, and if he sounded a little gruff, it was because he could hardly stand to say it.

Ronon rubbed both hands over his head, shaking it out, then glanced around. And, God, he looked so young, so happy. So damned free.

"Thanks, you guys," he said. "Means a lot."

Teyla put her hand on his shoulder, and Rodney sputtered something. Jackson wandered over just then, sparing John from having to try to say anything. He wasn't sure he could.

"I wonder what's going to happen to the Wraith?" McKay said.

"They're likely to feed on each other," Jackson said, "unless Todd can engineer a retrovirus that will allow them to gain nourishment from the plants and creatures living on the planets there. What?" Jackson said, "I did at least check there were plants and animals."

"Good old Todd," John said, smirking.

"He's gone, too," Ronon said, with way too much satisfaction. John gave him a questioning look, but Ronon stood up and turned, dragging the towel off his shoulders. He tucked the dread John had cut into his pocket and then declared, "I need a drink."

"We have those," John said, bemused. "Right over there."

"Then come on," Ronon said, nodding goodbye to Teyla. Jackson and McKay were engaged in some kind of existential debate about multiverses that would just make John's brain hurt. 

He followed Ronon to the drink table and they went digging in the bucket, coming up with a bottle apiece. 

"Hey, any of those left?"

"Nope. Got the last one," Ronon said smugly, and knocked the cap off his Molson with the hilt of his throwing knife, which had a wicked finger guard. He handed it to John so he could do the same with his Corona.

"My head hurts from all that," Ronon said after they finished their beers. "Let's get out of here."

John shrugged. Things were winding down at this point, anyway, with the drinks drying up and the cake already cut. John tapped his radio and checked in with the patrol; the last guests had already left, so it was safe for John to check out for the night. He thanked his guys for an uneventful evening and signed off.

"After you," John said, and followed Ronon, who took him to the transporter and then out to the rail path that ran along the West Tower. It was one of their old, favorite running paths, the one they used to use before Atlantis relocated and it became weather-unfriendly.

"I remember this," John said. "Easier on the turns here. I miss this route."

"Yeah. This was how I first got to know the city. With you," Ronon added, and it was such an unusual thing for Ronon to say that John did a double take.

"We've been through a lot since then," was all John managed to say. He wanted to ask if this was goodbye but couldn't get the words out. He didn't want to know the answer. Damn it, he didn't want Ronon to go.

Still, Ronon seemed to hear what he was thinking anyway, because he shook his head. "I used to watch you...all the time. I thought I knew what you wanted, but you never—" Ronon walked over to the railing and put his hands on it, his back to John. "Then I figured it out; you guys have rules."

"Regs," John said, his throat dry. _Holy fuck._ He stepped closer.

"Rules for everything. For everything I wanted." Ronon gripped the railing so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"Hey." John cleared his throat. "You weren't alone. With wanting."

"And even when Woolsey said the rules changed, they didn't change enough."

"God, Ronon." John turned and leaned against the railing, resting so his arm just touched Ronon's. "Yeah, there's still fraternization."

Ronon turned his head. "Not anymore." 

_Oh._ "Right." A grin suddenly grabbed John's face. "Right!" Then he frowned. "Except, you're leaving."

It was Ronon's turn to frown. "What?"

"I mean, are you staying? Because you could stay. It's not like we don't need you around. Even if you're not military."

"Yeah, I know," Ronon said, now staring at John as if he had a screw loose. "I already talked to Woolsey about it. I'm going to be a cultural liaison. Work with the anthropologists and be a diplomat. And Woolsey is offering me a degree program in exchange."

"Oh. Holy fuck. That's...that's terrific." Well, Ronon always was two steps ahead of him, anyway. 

"So, can we get back on track?" Ronon leaned in, and it was still weird how young he looked with his hair so short, but his eyes were just the same, smart and patient and way too old for his years. 

"Yeah, so, you're staying. And you're not under my command anymore, so..." John's heart was racing to beat the band.

Ronon rolled his eyes, so John just leaned up and kissed him. Really put his back into it, because when it came to Ronon, he didn't plan to fuck around. Except he did. He really planned to fuck Ronon and be fucked by him—John had been thinking about it a lot, all the various, different ways and means of fucking, and of Ronon, except all them started with this: with Ronon's soft, pretty mouth, and the way his lips would feel against John's, and the way he'd suck on John's tongue, just—like—that.

John's dick got hard so fast he went dizzy.

Ronon brushed kisses against John's cheek, against his jaw, sucked on the tip of his ear, and then bent him back over the railing and started dragging his teeth over John's throat.

"Oh, God, Ronon—" John couldn't breathe. He seriously couldn't breathe. He couldn't believe he finally had this.

"John. John." Ronon's hips and hard cock were keeping John safely tethered to Atlantis or he might've gone flying out into the ocean.

"Hey. Hey, we're making a scene out here." It finally occurred to John. "Somebody might get some ideas."

"Let 'em," Ronon said. Well, it was more like a growl that raised goose bumps on John's neck, but John didn't mind. 

"I'm just thinking: I'd like to use my spine again someday. Let's try somewhere soft."

Ronon pulled back and let him stand upright. "You're such a wimp."

"Thanks, yeah; I know." John gave him another quick kiss and then adjusted himself in his pants. "Let's go."

"My place," Ronon said. "At least I have a bed a stilfa would bother crapping on."

"There's an insult in there, I can tell."

"Yup." Ronon hooked an arm around his neck and yanked him along.

"Just for that, I hafta say: your haircut looks dumb. Like maybe you should start a pop band or something." John ducked out of his grip and started running.

Of course, he knew Ronon would catch him soon enough.

John could always count on him.

 

_End._


End file.
